Bobby John

No more than 200 people lived in that unincorportated area in West Virginia. And it was Bobbie John’s kingdom. For years, for as long as anyone could remember, Bobbie John was the arbitrator and, like President Bush, the decider. Under his command were 200 living souls. Why did they come to Bobbie John to settle disputes, have him suggest whom to marry, all that day-to-day “important” stuff for those 200 living, breathing souls?

Because Bobbie John was educated, a learned man, the only one around. He didn’t take any mules out to plow. Hell no! He sat on that kitchen chair out on his porch and read book after book. Anyone out in the woods, coming to the road, walking home, would see Bobbie John sittin’ and readin’! All that book learning, all that knowledge made Bobbie John the guru of that rural area in West Virginia.

He never slacked off in book learnin’; he was 82 and still sitting on that kitchen chair (actually the twenth-some cousin of that first chair) and reading and, not controlling, but guiding the lives of his neighbors down his so-called righteous paths in life. Bobbie John and those books! Why, his blood relatives said they were going to put a pile of books in his coffin. But the Reverend wouldn’t allow it when Bobbie John was buried.

I was visiting the homestead as a friend of a distant relative when Bobbie John died. He lived alone in the house in back of theirs. The men relatives of Bobbie John gathered in the front yard after the funeral. They squatted down in a circle and worked out the division of the estate. No lawyers, no legal documents, no will. Everybody got something. My friend came over and handed me the key to the front door of Bobbie John’s house, now granted by extended family consensus to him.

“Stanley, you’re always reading books. Just like Bobbie John. Here, take this key and go through his library, take what books you want. Hell, take them all.”

I didn’t wait long; I was curious to know what this honored man read. Thoreau, Emerson, Shakespeare, Hemingway, Einstein…? I almost broke off the key in my rush to gather these treasured tomes. The house was full of books all right; hundreds and hundreds of them. They were basically all the same, though, many duplicates of the first book I opened to read:

“Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down and…”

I kept the astonishing discovery to myself and packed up the school kiddie books, moving the boxes to my station wagon for the ride to a distant, first-come, somewhere city dumpster. They had a pariah, let them bury a parish.

(I guess today Bobbie John would own a computer; he would know how to turn on but not how to operate. That’s just a side thought.)

Always Inquire, Never Assume

During the old-time wars with sailing ships or olden days of pirates, the bad guys’ ships would raise a phony “legit” flag, then strike the phony flag, and up with ours! “We tricked them, too bad for them, and now they’re ours to pillage and burn!”

Wave the flag, wear the flag pin and you’re all for your country. Right? Wave the Bible and yell curses at “nonbelievers.” God’s only on your side, right? Say the wrong thing often enough, and it’s true! Right? A Madison Avenue motto or slogan can win an election and is money well-spent. Right?

The bottom line is these things are props. See them for what they are — just props. Look beyond the props and see clearly what’s what. How many Bobby John’s are there in the world to mess up other people’s lives? Bobby John with his books as his prop had a good run.

What would have happened if someone in petitioning him for advice, suddenly asked Bobby John: “Could you please read me a page from your book?” It wouldn’t wash; Bobby John would never reveal his bluff. He had his prop and I bet you have yours. I have mine. What is the true identity and beliefs behind our props? Do our props stand for things that are true? When does it matter most?

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